


Planting Seeds in a Garden (What is a Legacy?)

by happybeans



Series: Biodad AU [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen, Irondad, Not sponsored by Dollar General, Road Trip, Truth or Dare, Vacation, Wholesome Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27974753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybeans/pseuds/happybeans
Summary: Peter and Tony go on a roadtrip. Wholesome fun ensues!
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Biodad AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048894
Comments: 9
Kudos: 92





	Planting Seeds in a Garden (What is a Legacy?)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey! This is part three, and probably the final part of my biodad au series :D This series was prompted and inspired by AO3 user [Malya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malya/pseuds/Malya) AKA [iloveirondad on Tumblr!](https://iloveirondad.tumblr.com)
> 
> This series would not be a thing if it weren't for Malya's prompt, so a huge thanks to Malya! I hope you guys enjoyed :D

“Tu sei mio figlio.”

“Io sono ti figlio,” Peter mumbles back.

Even though he’s pretty sure his accent is atrocious, Tony grins.

“Yes!” he says. “See? You’re catching on.”

Peter hums, though he can’t help his blushing grin. “How much longer until we get there?”

“Ah-ah. In Italian.”

Laughing, Peter says, “You haven’t even taught me how to say that yet!”

“Well, now that’s unfortunate for you, isn’t it?”

Tony smirks at him, looking at Peter from the corner of his eye. One hand breaks off the steering wheel of their rented Jeep to pat Peter’s knee. “Soon, mio pompelmino. We’ve got maybe an hour left.”

That’s one thing that’s changed in the time since they found out Tony’s technically his dad: Tony’s taken to calling Peter names in Italian then refusing to translate them.

“I don’t suppose you’re planning to tell me what that one means?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

Peter can’t help his grin. He can’t get over how incredibly lucky he feels. It’s like the universe decided to give him another chance through Tony.

“Now, you have choices,” Tony says, drawing Peter’s attention. “AC/DC, Def Leppard, or Guns N’ Roses?”

“Are those words supposed to mean something to me?” Peter jokes.

Throwing a dramatic hand over his arc reactor, Tony says, “I’m wounded. My own son, an uncultured Gen-Z kid.”

Peter snorts. “Guns and Roses is my choice. No offense to the others, but Deaf Leopard? And ACDC, is that an acronym, or…?”

It earns the laugh he was aiming for. “For your information, yes, it is. It stands for ‘alternating current/direct current’ electricity,” Tony responds, and for perhaps the first time since Peter’s known him, he sounds like a total dork.

“That’s very cool,” Peter lies, and Tony shoves him for it.

“Alright, cool kid, what would you listen to?”

Peter hums, smirking because he already knows how Tony is going to react. “Oh, I don’t know. Blackbear, Ariana Grande, Lil Nas—”

“Aha! The second you say ‘Lil,’ you lost me.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “That’s a little judgmental, don’t you think? Kinda prejudiced.”

“Might be so. I’m not taking it back. FRIDAY, Appetite for Destruction, please.”

The sound of an electric guitar fills the car, and Peter turns his head to see the countryside out the window.

They’re somewhere in New York state, having left the city a few hours before. It’s pretty out here, with green woods and farmland. And it’s quiet, too. You never truly realize the extent of your super-senses until you’re away from the constant rush of the city.

It feels like him and Tony are the only ones who exist.

Well. Them and the guy they’ve been tailgating for the past ten minutes.

“Let’s go!” Tony turns to Peter. “If they don’t hurry it up, you’re about to learn some colorful new vocabulary.”

Learning Italian cuss words actually sounds pretty fun. “Why don’t you just pass them?”

Tony groans, looking back at the road. “Because the yellow lines mean no passing, and I have a kid now and am trying to be a good influence.” He’s quiet for a second. “Bah! Whatever. Remember kiddo: do as I say, not as I do.”

Peter nods seriously. “Got it.”

They sit in quiet for a minute, Peter enjoying the view and listening to Tony sing along to the music under his breath.

Eventually, Peter says, “Hey, so, should we play a game or something?”

Tony turns down the music. “A game?” he asks. “What games could we play while driving?”

“I-Spy?”

With a snort, Tony says, “Whatever you want, kid. You go first.”

“Okay. Hmm… Alright, I got it.”

Tony’s quiet. After a few seconds, he says, “Are you gonna tell me the color?”

Peter blushes. “Right! Red.”

Shaking his head but smiling, Tony says, “That stop sign.”

“Nope.”

“The speedometer.”

“Nope.”

“The hazard button.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

Tony reaches forward to tap the button with red triangles on it. “This.”

“Oh. Nope.”

This goes on for several more guesses. Finally, Tony says, “I give up. What is it?”

“It was that barn we passed a little bit ago.”

“…I could kill you.”

They re-establish the rules of the game then manage four-and-a-half more rounds before Tony taps out.

The rest of the ride is made in silence, but there really isn’t much further to go anyways. Before Peter knows it, the buildings are getting closer together, and then they’re passing a sign that says, “Welcome to Ithaca!”

“Ithaca?” he says. “Isn’t that where Cornell is?”

“Yuh-huh.” Tony nudges Peter with his elbow, saying, “Somebody’s looking at the Ivy Leagues, huh?”

Breathing a laugh, Peter says, “Not really. Just considering my options.”

Nodding, Tony says, “That’s good. You know I’ll support you wherever you choose to go…so long as that choice is MIT.”

Peter rolls his eyes, saying, “We’ll see.”

“We can check out Cornell if you want. Since we’re already here and all.”

“That’s okay.”

“It’s no problem. I now a guy. We could probably get a private tour in—or, hell, we could just walk around.”

“Tony, I’m good. I don’t want to go to Cornell.” He’s quiet for a second. “I just like that it’s close.”

He looks over to see Tony’s grin. “Everywhere’s close when your dad owns a private jet.”

“Haha. I guess…”

There’s silence between them for a couple of seconds.

“Well, hey,” Tony says, and Peter looks over to see his reassuring smile. “You still have a while to think about it.”

Peter nods. “That’s true.” He shrugs. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Sure you will. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

Peter’s pretty sure Tony’s been ignoring Peter’s stomach’s gurgly sounds for the past hour. “How about some lunch from, hmm…the Cornell cafeteria?”

He gives Peter a smirking look that makes Peter laugh. “Ha-ha. I don’t care where we go, but you better figure it out soon. Lowkey forgot to eat breakfast.”

“Peter!”

Laughing, Peter says, “I woke up late!”

“I picked you up at noon.”

“…Correct.”

“Unbelievable. And here I thought you were fifteen, not five.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Peter says with a grin. “Waa, feed me.”

Tony snorts a laugh at Peter’s antics. “Well, get your phone out,” he says. “Find somewhere that looks good.”

Peter hums as he scrolls through their options. “Ooh, Taco Bell,” he says as a joke.

“Kid, I’m over fifty years old. If I eat Taco Bell, I might actually die.”

“Quit being so dramatic,” Peter laughs.

Casually, Tony says, “We can’t go kayaking if I wreck my system with Taco Bell.”

“Ooh, kayaking?”

“Perhaps. If you would ever figure out—”

“I’m on it, I’m on it! What are you in the mood for?”

“I literally could not care less.”

“Okay. Hmm… Ooh, how does seafood sound? I found an oyster bar. I don’t even know what that is.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay, turn left on…” He looks up. “Shoot, now, turn left!”

Tony whips them around the corner, Peter saying, “Whee!”

Peter can practically hear Tony’s eye-roll. He can’t stop his grin.

“Thanks for taking me on this trip,” he says. “I’m having fun.”

“All we’ve done is sit in a car for four hours.”

“And?”

Tony shrugs. “Hey, who am I to judge?”

Peter navigates them the rest of the way to the restaurant, and Tony says after they’ve parked, “Don’t make fun of my old joints.”

Peter winces when Tony stretches and his back cracks in what sounds like nine different places.

Quietly, Peter says, “My senses mean I heard that in HD Surround-Sound.”

Tony playfully shoves him, and they make their way inside the restaurant. Once they’re seated by the hostess who doesn’t seem to recognize Tony and Peter’s playing with his straw wrapper, Tony starts going over their plans for the trip.

“Obviously, I didn’t have the time to make a whole itinerary—” May vetoed them going the day after Tony proposed the idea but okayed the trip so long as Peter had a couple of days to get his schoolwork in order— “but I came up with a few ideas for where we can go from here.”

Peter nods along, flicking his straw wrapper across the table to Tony, who talks on, either ignoring the wrapper or oblivious.

“I was thinking we’ll head East through Vermont then up into Maine.”

“Sounds good. As long as you’re not tricking me into a college visit tour, I’m down.”

“There goes Plan A,” Tony says faux-seriously. Then, more lighthearted, “Seriously, though, is there anything you wanted to see?”

Shrugging, peter says, “Not really. Like I said, I’m cool with whatever. I’d love to maybe go on a hike?”

Tony nods, saying, “I thought you’d say that. Lucky for you, there’s plenty of places to hike around here.”

Peter grins. “Sweet.” Then he looks down under the table. “We should probably pick up some different shoes for you, though? You probably don’t want to ruin your dress shoes by hiking in them.”

“Good point. I doubt converse are very conducive to hiking, either.”

“Hey, converse are multi-functional.”

“They’re really not.”

The waitress—who definitely does recognize Tony—comes by to take their order after another minute, and Peter and Tony spend the rest of lunch planning out the next couple of days. Tony makes a couple of calls and finds them a cabin just north of Ithaca to stay in over the next day or two while Peter has his fill of oysters and Dr. Pepper.

Full and content, they leave the restaurant and hop back on the road, heading just a little further North to Taughannok State Park so they can check out their cabin.

The place they’re staying in is nice, modern and clean looking, if a little big for just the two of them. Peter calls dibs on the room reached by walking up a spiral staircase (“Wasn’t planning to fight you on that one, Pete.”) then starts exploring the extra rooms while Tony unpacks.

“This place is lit,” Peter tells him once the cabin is thoroughly explored. “Did you know there’s a game room? I’m totally smoking you at air hockey later.”

“We’ll see about that,” Tony says, flashing a grin over his shoulder. He sits down on the edge of his bed, facing Peter, who leans against the doorframe, and says, “So, we have options. It’s about six o’clock: we can go on a short hike and wake up early for kayaking tomorrow; we could go explore the city a little; or we could plan a day in and rest up for a long day tomorrow.”

Peter hums, considering their options. He imagines Tony’s tired after a day of driving, so he says, “How about we head back into town to pick up shoes and food and stuff and then figure out tomorrow?”

Tony stands up at the plan, snagging his keys from where he set them on the nightstand. “Thinking about food already?” he teases.

Tch-ing a laugh through his teeth, Peter says, “I meant for later, but okay.”

“I know what you meant.” Tony throws the keys without warning, but Peter catches them. “Why don’t you go start up the car while I run to the bathroom real quick.”

“Ooh, can I drive?”

“Ha. No.”

The drive back into town is short, with Peter being allowed to play navigator again to get them to the store.

“Seriously, though, Walmart would probably be fine,” Peter says again. “And then you wouldn’t have to drive us to two different places.”

“What do you have against supporting small businesses?” Tony asks seriously, his subtle smirk the only giveaway that he’s messing with him. “But really, c’mon, kid. I’m Tony Stark. What would the media say if they caught me rocking Walmart’s finest?”

“Do you think that’s a possibility? That the media might see us together?”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

Peter’s quiet for a second as he thinks about it. “You’ve gotta turn left at the next light. I don’t know. Would it be?”

“I don’t know, kiddo. They’d be curious, that’s for sure.” He reaches over to scruff up Peter’s hair. “You know I wouldn’t let anything terrible happen.”

Peter bats Tony’s hand away then nods. “That’s true. It’s up here on the right, by the way.”

They park, and Tony switches out his signature square glasses for a pair of dark sunglasses. The older gentleman running the store is none the wiser, and Peter and Tony leave the store a half-hour later, Peter having insisted he carry the bags.

“Thanks again for the boots and stuff, but I totally could have paid for them myself.”

“Listen,” Tony says as he pops the trunk: “I don’t know what you’re not getting when I say I’m a billionaire. I have so much money I wipe my ass with it.”

Peter laughs. “Gross.”

Tony snorts a laugh. “I’m paying for you when we go shopping or out to eat or on vacation. So, stop worrying about it.”

“Well… Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to,” Peter mumbles as he sets their bags in the trunk.

Tony rolls his eyes as he shuts the trunk. “I want to,” he corrects. “Just like I want to buy you your first car and pay for your college tuition and the down payment on your house.”

“Tony, thank you, but that’s too much.”

Tony walks away to the driver’s seat, so Peter goes to the passenger’s seat.

As they buckle up, Tony says, “There’s no point in arguing. It’s already happening.”

“But—”

“Kid, let me do this. I get that it’s new and weird and not what you’re used to, but this is what I do.”

He starts up the car and starts driving.

Peter bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks. “I just… I don’t want you to think that I just want your money or something.”

Tony smiles, turning his head slightly to look at Peter for a moment. “I know, buddy.”

Peter’s quiet as he thinks.

Ever since he was a kid, Peter’s seen Tony Stark as some kind of god, almost: somebody higher, different. It’s only in the past year, once he was given a chance to know the guy, that he discovered Tony’s a person, like himself.

He wonders what it would be like to live life on a pedestal like that, to be somebody who’s more to be viewed rather than to get to know. He wonders if lots of people have used him used for his wealth. Peter thinks some people must have.

Peter doesn’t want Tony to feel like he has to buy Peter’s time or love. Because Peter would want to be with Tony even if he didn’t have any of his money. The time that they spend together—the lab days, the sleepovers, _now_ —all of it is much more valuable to Peter than a car or a new pair of shoes.

He opens his mouth to tell Tony this then closes it again. He knows Tony can be iffy about emotions and doesn’t want to make it weird.

“We’re still playing air hockey later, right?” he asks instead. _I love you._

“Whatever you want,” Tony says with an easy smile. And it’s almost like he’s said it back.

After stopping by a market to pick up food and snacks, they head back to the cabin. Peter messes around in the kitchen while Tony goes to his room to change into more comfortable clothes.

“Hey, Tony,” Peter calls over his shoulder, “do you think I could karate chop this watermelon in half?”

There’s quiet for a second. Tony chuckles to himself. “Why would you want to do that?” he calls back.

“I don’t know. So, should I?”

“Don’t break your hand.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” Seconds later: “I did it!”

Tony leaves his room, clapping slowly. He walks over and looks at the watermelon, which lies on the counter in two pieces. “My son is so talented,” he says. “You washed your hands first, right?”

“Perhaps,” Peter says suspiciously. Then, “Just kidding. Yeah, I did. High five?”

He raises his watermelon juice-covered hand. There’s a seed stuck between his middle and ring fingers.

Tony scoffs a laugh, and Peter turns around to wash his hands again.

Earlier, Peter argued for and lost his right to try and make dinner, so Tony sends him to work on some of his homework while Tony prepares dinner.

He’s midway through his chemistry homework his teacher gave him for the week when Tony walks over to the dining room table, where he’s been working.

Even though he’s only been there for, like, five seconds, Tony still says, “You forgot to carry the one on number three.”

Peter finished up the problem he’s working on then takes a look. “Thanks,” he says as he erases the second half of his work. “Dinner ready?”

“Mhm. Time for a break.”

“Alright, one sec.”

He sees Tony put one hand on his hip. “Don’t you ‘one sec’ me. I prepare this wholesome, well-balanced family dinner and you’re going to let it get cold?”

Peter laughs, throwing his hands up and saying, “Okay, you win.”

“For shame,” Tony continues, an easy smile on his face.

Peter starts packing up his work while Tony slides two plates onto the table, packed with chicken, rice, asparagus, and watermelon slices.

“Wow, this is well-balanced,” Peter says.

“There’s more of everything, so don’t be shy.”

They sit across from each other at the round table and start to dig in.

“This is really good,” Peter says through his first bite of food.

“First of all, I can’t believe you aren’t a toddler. Don’t talk with your mouth full, and chew with your mouth closed.”

Peter laughs, accidentally spitting out a piece of rice in the process.

Tony shakes his head, eyeing the rice grain with contempt. “Second of all,” he starts, but Peter interrupts him, saying:

“Hey, I’m just trying to make up for the years you missed.”

Shaking his head, Tony ignores him, saying, “Second of all, why do you sound so surprised? I can cook.”

Peter shrugs, moving to take another bite but rethinking it. He says, “I don’t know. I mean, you usually don’t. We always eat out.”

“Just because I typically choose not to doesn’t mean I can’t. Unlike somebody in the room.”

Peter takes in Tony’s smirk and groans. “May told you, didn’t she?”

“About which time?” Tony asks, and Peter groans again.

To say the least, May’s inability to cook anything other than Italian was passed down to Peter. There’s loads of cringey incidents he’s still trying (and failing) to block out of his memory.

“The photo evidence is what really did it for me,” Tony says casually, and Peter hides his face behind his hands.

Tony kicks Peter’s leg underneath the table, and Peter looks up to see Tony’s grin. “Funny stuff. Maybe for Christmas I’ll sign you two up for a cooking class.”

“Hanukkah,” Peter corrects then begrudgingly admits: “That would be pretty cool. Maybe we could all go. Is that how you learned how to cook?”

Tony looks wistful as he says, “No, I had a butler who taught me. His name was Jarvis.”

Jarvis… Like Tony’s first AI. Peter connects the dots fast, remembering information he read on Tony’s Wikipedia page years ago, taking note of the word “was,” and seeing the nostalgic expression on Tony’s face and in his voice.

Peter nods. “Jarvis sounds cool,” he says, and he wants to hit himself for how not enough that comment is.

But Tony smiles softly at Peter. “Yeah, he was.” A moment passes in quiet. Then Tony straightens up, picking up some food with his fork. “Then Rhodey taught me more in college since I really only knew the basics. I was so obnoxious back then. I still can’t believe he put up with me at all.”

“Right, ‘back then,’” Peter says, making quote marks around his fork.

“Hey!” Tony interjects, mouth full.

“Tony, are you talking with your mouth full?” Peter asks with a mock gasp. He grins when he sees Tony glare, chewing seriously.

After he swallows, he says, “That’s it. I was going to hold back, but no more: I’m ending your life at air hockey later.”

“Go ahead and try it, old man. I have super-strength and I’m not afraid to use it.”

That last part is a blatant lie, and he thinks Tony knows it.

Still, Tony says, “This old man can kick your ass, super-strength or not.”

“I guess we’ll find out, then.”

“I guess we will.”

They’re quiet for a second.

“Are we playing right now?” Peter asks.

“Yes, we are.”

The tournament is brutal. After a quick practice round, the two discover they’re fairly equal in skill, with Peter winning the practice round after a fair amount of back and forth. They decide on just a single game for the night to determine who the ultimate victor is. First one to ten points wins.

“Ha!” Peter says as he scores his first point. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. Ned and I went to the arcade pretty much every day after school throughout middle school and Freshman year.”

“Lucky shot,” Tony says as he digs out the puck. “I’ll have you know Rhodey and I used to team up and hustle every one of our classmates during college, two-v-two.”

“I didn’t know they had air hockey back in your day.”

“Well, think again. I’ve been playing since before you were born.”

They stay about even for the first while. Peter pulls ahead midway through the game, making it to seven while Tony sits at five. Then, Tony manages to dunk on him three times in a row, and, if it’s even possible, the game gets more heated.

Over an hour after they started, Peter notices Tony starting to slow down.

“Sure you don’t want to back out while you’re ahead?” he asks him.

“Ha,” Tony says. “Is somebody trying to avoid defeat?”

“Nope,” Peter says, knocking away the puck. He flings it over to Tony, who slams his striker on top of it as it’s halfway through his goal, just barely managing to pull it back out. “Just wondering if you want to.”

“You’ve got to catch up first,” Tony says, and he’s clearly been calculating angles the whole game: he throws the puck backwards again so that it bounces off the walls and towards Peter’s goal.

Peter deflects it, the striker and puck connecting with a loud clank. Over the course of the game, he’s been slowly using more and more of his strength as the game’s intensity rages like a wildfire.

Tony manages another score, bringing them to a nine-eight, with Tony in the lead. He plays like he’s always a thousand steps ahead, and Peter struggles to catch up, not so much watching the puck but more calculating where Tony intends it to go.

Usually, this means Tony’s strikes bounce the puck off the walls multiple times before ultimately flying towards Peter’s goal.

Peter, on the other hand, aims for straight-forward, one-directional shots, with the occasional juke-out thrown in.

In the end, Tony surprises him by rocketing the puck forward like a cobra to its prey, and even Peter’s reflexes don’t manage to stop it. He falls to the ground with a dramatic, “Nooooo!” while Tony laughs maniacally.

As Tony offers a hand to help him off the floor, Peter says, “I demand a rematch.”

“I demand you finish dinner,” Tony counters, and that sounds fair to Peter.

They head back into the dining room, and Tony tosses his plate into the microwave while Peter sits down to keep eating.

“You’re just going to eat that cold?” Tony asks.

Peter shrugs.

Tony says, “Talk about two L’s at once.”

And Peter chokes on his food.

By the time Peter wakes up the next day (maybe an hour after his alarm was supposed to wake him up), Tony’s already gotten breakfast ready. Peter gets ready for the day then goes to join Tony in the living room, where he’s laid out on the couch, watching the news.

Peter watches with him for a sec, finds out there’s really nothing new they’re reporting, then wishes a good morning to Tony.

They eat then set off South, heading for a trail Tony read about the night before. It’s a couple miles-long hike that leads them to a waterfall called “Lucifer Falls.”

Peter oohs at a mushroom just off the trail. “And how do you say—”

“Fungo.”

“Such a precious fungo.”

“You’re a precious fungo.”

“Hey.”

Peter straightens back up and the two continue up the trail.

“It’s a tree,” Tony says not long later when Peter oohs at one at the edge of the tail. He sounds annoyed, but Peter knows it’s just for show.

“It’s a cool tree. What is, it, Birch?”

Tony adjusts his glasses. “Aspen,” he corrects.

Peter eyes him. “Well, what about that one?”

Again, Tony pauses for a moment before saying its name.

Peter hums, suspicious. “How do you know that? Did MIT have a plant-identification class?”

“I know everything,” Tony says seriously.

Meanwhile, Peter rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah? What theme was my twelfth birthday party then?”

Tony snorts. “Avengers.”

Peter makes the sound of an angry buzzer. “Errrrr.”

Shaking his head, Tony tries again: “Sorry, it was Black Widow specifically.”

“Wrong again.”

Tony laughs. “No, I’m not,” he says with certainty.

“May told you,” Peter accuses, and Tony laughs.

Peter ducks out of the way to avoid the hand Tony tries to rough up his hair with.

Tony says, “Nope. You’re just very predictable. I’m just surprised it wasn’t Iron Man.”

“You’re a fake fan. Iron Man was seven and ten.”

“I’m a fake fan?” Tony repeats.

“Yeah, a fake fan of me.”

Tony puts a dramatic hand over his arc reactor. “How dare you say such cruel words. I deny all allegations raised against me.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s put it to the test. What’s my favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Food?”

“Lasagna.”

“Shape?”

“Hourglass.”

Peter makes a face. “Ew, Tony, gross!”

Tony grins. “Kidding. It’s…triangle?”

“It’s so pointy,” he says solemnly. Then: “How did you know all of that stuff?”

Tony shrugs then throws an arm around Peter’s shoulder to pull him close as they walk. “What can I say? I’m just too fantastic.”

“He’s just too fantastic,” Peter repeats, putting all his acting skills into it.

“Spirit of a bottle-nose dolphin,” Tony quotes seriously. Then, “What about me, kid? What’s my favorite color?”

“Uhhh…” Peter pulls away to squint at him. “Black?”

“Oh Peter, my fragolina fortunata.” He succeeds in fucking up Peter’s hair this time, grinning as he says, “See? I know you and you know me.”

“We’re just too fantastic,” Peter corrects, with a tone filled with awe.

Tony snorts a laugh. “Exactly. Now, you hear that? I think we’re close.”

Pretending he hasn’t heard the falls since they got there, Peter says, “Oh, cool!”

They pick up their pace, making it to the end of the trail by the base of the waterfall.

“Woah, cool,” Peter says, looking up at it.

Tony nods, admiring it as well.

“How big do you think it is?”

Tony adjusts his glasses and say, “Oh, maybe 115 feet.”

“Aha! I knew it!”

Peter ignores Tony’s questioning look, waiting for the other nearby hikers to leave.

Once they’re gone, Peter says, “You have magic glasses.”

Tony busts out a laugh. “What?” he asks incredulously.

“Your glasses are magic. Don’t try to say they’re not.”

“They’re not.”

“Up-up—”

“They’re science…ical.”

“Science-ical?”

Tony shrugs. “Sure.” He pulls the glasses off and holds them out to Peter. “Try ‘em on.”

Peter holds them gently, afraid he might break the glasses that have become so iconic to Tony’s image. He pulls them on, and his eyes go wide. The glasses look like how the world looks through the suit, with the sensors and blue graphics describing their surroundings.

“Hello, Peter,” he hears an electronic voice say.

Peter leans over, one hand cupped by his mouth as he whispers to Tony, “How does it know my name?”

Tony laughs, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

They voice explains for him, “My name is EDITH. Mr. Stark programmed my sensors to recognize your facial-geometry.”

Well, that’s…an interesting way to put it.

“Nice to meet you,” Peter says before taking off the glasses, blinking to get used to the regular world again. He hands them back to Tony, who slides them back onto his face. “So, you’ve been cheating this whole time.”

“Let’s call it…using my resources.” He pulls his phone out. “Now, stand over there and smile.”

Peter bounces in excitement. “Let’s take a selfie!” He grabs Tony’s arm to pull him over to a clear space with a view of the falls behind them.

“Alright, buddy.” He raises his phone then belatedly remembers to flip to the front-facing camera. “Not a word,” he says, looking at Peter.

Peter hides his laugh behind an innocent smile. “Cheese!”

Peter sees Tony roll his eyes before saying himself, overly enthusiastic: “Cheese!”

The picture catches Peter the moment he laughs.

The hike back to the car is taken up with Tony describing how he came up with and made his glasses to an excited and curious Peter.

“Don’t you worry you might drop them or something?” Peter asks. “Or, like, what if you accidentally forget them in your pocket when you put your clothes in the wash?”

“I just don’t do that,” Tony says, like it’s that simple. “Besides, they’ve very difficult to break. They store information in a similar way to your suit.”

Peter nods, face lightening in understanding. A while back, back when Tony was still Mr. Stark, Tony explained that Karen’s processors and all the important electronic parts of the suit are hidden throughout the suit.

It’s like how the brain adapts to injury: it learns to use different areas for different functions when one area becomes unusable. That’s how sometimes a person with major brain injuries can sometimes still do a lot of stuff that shouldn’t be possible: their brains learn to store information in different places.

Peter’s suit was designed to do something similar. Rather than putting all of Karen on one single microchip, there are tons, like, thousands, of them spread throughout the suit. So, if one gets damaged, the others can pick up the load.

“That’s neat,” Peter says. “What if you made them into contacts, that way it’s more discrete?”

“That’s how I know you’re my son: always thinking. Although, I don’t think discrete is really my style, don’t you think?”

Peter laughs. “Good point.”

Once they get back to the car, they head back into town for lunch then over to Cayuga lake for some kayaking.

Kayaking is fun and a good workout. It’s relaxing, too, when Peter isn’t goading Tony into a race and when Peter isn’t flipping over and lowkey getting stuck in the kayak. That part is less fun and slightly triggering, but Tony’s laughing when Peter comes back up, so Peter laughs with him, if somewhat breathlessly.

They watch the sun go lower (the actual sunset takes too long and they give up), take another selfie that feels way risky, no matter how waterproof Tony claims his phone is, then head back to the cabin for dinner and a night of hard-earned sleep.

Ithaca turns out to be a great starting point for their trip. If the rest of the road trip goes even half as good as this, Peter thinks he and Tony will have a great time.

They hit the road again early the next day after breakfast, heading East. Peter falls asleep, Tony having woken him up early to get going, and he only wakes up hours later when he feels the car parking.

Peter blinks awake, looking around. “Are we there?” he asks.

Tony laughs. “Where? We haven’t even talked about where we’re going.”

“Oh.”

Snorting another laugh, Tony shakes his head. “We’re in ‘High Peaks Wilderness.’” He makes air quotes around what he clearly thinks is a stupid name. Peter thinks it sounds okay. “Want to stretch your legs for a bit?”

“Sure.”

“Warning: EDITH told me this trail is six miles each way.”

Peter smirks. “Are you sure you don’t want to back out?”

“I’m in if you’re in, lettugina. Get your hiking boots.”

As they start on the trail, Tony describes where they’re going, though he keeps it vague, simply saying that it will take them to the top of a mountain. Peter feels like a true mountain-man, muddying up his hiking boots.

He jumps into another muddy spot, splashing mud onto Tony’s boots, though thankfully not reaching up to his pants.

Tony fails at sending Peter a glare. “This is gross,” he says. “Why do we like this?”

“It’s fun,” Peter says, twisting from side to side in the mud.

Tony’s lip curls in disgust, presumably at the sound.

“Try it!” Peter says, gesturing to another nearby pile of mud.

“No, thanks,” Tony says as he starts to walk away.

Peter laughs, scrambling to walk beside him. He pulls out his phone, which Tony made himself and has epic reception, and searches up what they can do after this.

“Let’s see,” he says as he types, “things to do in Vermont… Tony, have you ever wondered how a teddy bear is made?”

“Not really.”

“Well, wouldn’t you like to find out?” Before Tony can respond, Peter says, “We should go to this teddy bear factory.”

“Vermont Teddy Bear?” Tony asks, probably having found out through EDITH.

Peter scrolls up. “Yeah!”

“It is close,” Tony says.

“Sweet! I’m gonna get May a souvenir.”

Tony smiles. “What would Pepper say if I bought her a teddy bear?”

“Uh, ‘thank you?’ Everybody needs a teddy bear, Tony.”

“Do you still have one?”

“You don’t?”

“I’m a grown man.”

“So? We’re getting you a teddy bear.”

“You’re weird.”

“Says the guy who doesn’t even have a teddy bear. What’s up with that?”

“I wasn’t allowed to have one,” Tony says. “My dad threw mine away when I was nine. Said I was too old for one.”

Peter frowns. “What a jerk.” Then he freezes. “Oh my gosh, that was so rude. I’m sorry.”

Tony waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve called him worse things than ‘jerk.’”

“Was he always like that?”

With a shrug, Tony says, “Pretty much.”

Peter bites his cheek. “Dang. That’s rough.” Then he smiles at Tony. “I’m glad you’re not like that.”

Tony smiles back, though it seems strained. “Yeah, kid. Me, too.”

They walk in quiet for a second.

“I mean it,” Peter pushes, even though he doesn’t want to make it awkward. “I like you as my dad. You’re good at it.”

Tony sighs. “To be honest, bambino, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, my either.”

They smile at each other.

“I feel like I keep messing it up,” Tony says. “You’ve gotta tell me if I’m doing a terrible job. Open communication, gotta love it.”

He’s looking away, but Peter still smiles at him. “Okay. And you tell me if I’m doing a terrible job, too.”

“No, listen,” Tony says, and the two make eye-contact for a moment. He steps over a muddy spot then says, “I just want you to be you. Don’t try to change.”

“Well, you shouldn’t change, either.”

“Kid, I really, really should. I see that you look up to me, but I don’t want you to be like me. Because I see it in you, this potential. You’re going to be so much better than me.”

Peter wants to object to this, to tell Tony that he’s so much better than he thinks, but Tony continues:

“And I’m sorry. That it happened this way.”

Peter’s eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean?”

And Tony sighs again. He nods to the hikers who pass them walking in the other direction then says, “I should have been there for you growing up. But I wasn’t.”

“That’s not your fault, though.”

“One day you’ll grow older and realize that it really, really was.”

Peter lets out a breath. “Tony, look. I get what you’re saying, but—don’t interrupt me. I can tell that you want to.” This causes Tony to let out a breath, not quite smiling but not frowning, either.

Peter continues, “But I’ll never blame you for not knowing. This whole thing… It’s really complicated. The fact that May knew but never told me… It’s a little funky, I’ll admit, but I’m not mad at her. And I’m not mad at my dead parents, and I’m not mad at you, Tony.” He laughs. “Don’t get me wrong: it’s weird and took me a minute to wrap my head around. But I’m taking it for what it is.”

“You’re very mature about this,” Tony says.

Shrugging, Peter jokes, “I’m a mature individual.

Tony takes the bait. “Okay, Teddy Bear Factory.”

The mood lightened, they continue their hike up Cascade Something-Or-Other. Peter manages to convince Tony to play more I-Spy along the way, though the game ends quickly since most of what they see is green and it becomes a little too easy.

“It’s almost like this game is meant for toddlers,” Tony says.

Peter rolls his eyes in good humor. “Alright, what’s your great idea, then?” he asks.

“Truth or dare.”

Peter gasps. “Yes!”

“Kid, I was kidding.”

“You should know never to joke around me.”

“Apparently not.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Truth or dare, Tony?”

“I’m not playing. This is stupid.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Peter insists. He gestures to the great wilderness, saying, “Besides, there’s practically no one around. And we have, like, a thousand miles left to go.”

“There’s three.”

“Which can be rounded up to a thousand!”

“With what math—”

“C’mon, please?”

Tony sighs.

“Pleeeeease?”

“Kid…”

“Pleeeeee—”

“Okay, fine. One round.”

“One?! No, ten.”

“Ten?!”

“Fine, let’s do five. Right in the middle.”

“Four. So it’s even.”

Peter thinks it over for a moment. “Let’s play rock-paper-scissors for four or six.”

Tony rolls his eyes but stops walking, turning to face Peter. They stand across from each other, hands raised.

Together, they chant: “Rock, paper, scissors.”

Peter wins with paper, saying smugly, “Six it is! Tony, truth or dare?”

“Do I want to know what your dares are? Truth.”

Peter thinks for a second. They start walking again, and Peter says finally, “What’s your real favorite color?”

“What are you talking about? It’s black.”

“Is it really, though?”

Tony looks at him for a moment. “It’s black and purple,” he says.

“Ooh, purple’s a good one. Like lavender or—”

“Dark purple. Like a plum.”

“I love a good plum.”

Tony tchs out a laugh.

“My turn,” Peter says. “Dare.”

Tony hums, stroking his beard as he thinks. “I dare you to lick your elbow.”

Peter lifts his arm.

“Without dislocating it!” Tony hastens to add. He looks up to the sky as he bemoans, “Why do I feel the need to clarify that?”

“Aw, no fair,” Peter jokes. He makes a valiant effort but is ultimately forced to admit defeat.

“You lose,” Tony says. “Good game.”

“What? We’re not done yet.”

“You couldn’t do the dare. So, you lost.”

“No fair! You gave me an impossible task. Besides, that’s not how it works: refusing or failing to do a dare just means you’ll face a consequence.”

“A consequence, huh? What kind of consequence?”

Peter strokes his own imaginary beard as he thinks. He shrugs. “Loser buys lunch?”

Tony counters, “Loser has to regale us of his most embarrassing moment.”

Peter’s mouth drops. “Oh, good one. Okay, your turn: truth or dare?”

This time, Tony thinks it over. “Truth.”

“Lame,” Peter says, grinning with it. “Let’s see… What’s the…hmm. Oh! What’s the worst picture of you that exists?”

Tony groans, looking up. But he’s smiling as he pulls out his phone, types something, then turns the phone around to show Peter.

The search is “Tony Stark 2011 restaurant” and shows a somewhat younger Tony throwing a plate of what looks like spaghetti at a guy across the table from him. Tony’s face is caught mid-speech, so his mouth looks distorted.

Peter snorts a laugh. “Bad first date?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Tony puts away his phone. “Do as I say, not as I do,” he reminds Peter. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” After Tony thinks for a moment, Peter adds, “And no more impossible ones!”

After thinking for a few seconds more, Tony says, “Do the worm.”

Peter looks at the muddy ground and slows down. He looks just off the trail and moves over to what looks like a mostly dry spot.

Tony slows to a stop to watch as Peter flops around on the ground, probably resembling a dying fish more than a worm.

Of course, the nice couple that had been a couple hundred feet behind them so far chooses then to brush past.

Peter gets back up from the ground and dusts himself off, waving a hello to the couple who are blatantly staring. Face red, he asks Tony, “How’d I do?”

“Bad.”

Peter bursts into laughter that lasts a solid few seconds. “Aright,” he says, once he’s regained his breath, “Truth, I assume?”

“I’ll try a dare.”

Peter gasps, and Tony looks like he instantly regrets it. “I dare you to call Ms. Potts and say something embarrassing of my choice. And you can’t tell her it’s a dare.”

Tony sighs. Then he digs out his phone while Peter thinks.

“Okay,” Peter says. “When she picks up, you’ve gotta sing ‘Baby’ by Justin Bieber. Remember that song?”

“I remember. God. This is so stupid.”

“You could take the consequence, if you want,” Peter says temptingly.

“Blah, blah, blah.” Tony unlocks his phone then swipes through his contacts.

“Put it on speaker,” Peter says.

They start walking again as the phone rings.

“Voicemail,” Tony says as the ringing stops.

“Even better,” Peter says, rubbing his hands together like a supervillain.

Voice monotoned, Tony sings the chorus of the song then hangs up.

Peter laughs himself to tears. Like, actual tears. He stops walking, head in his hands. He looks up at Tony, who, although pink-faced, acts indifferent.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he says, and even though he’s said it as a joke, it’s also the first time he’s said it.

“I love you, too,” Peter says.

Tony nods, and they start walking again.

“Last one,” Tony says.

“I’ll do a truth this time.”

“Tell me your most embarrassing story, loser.”

“Ah, shoot. Okay.”

He proceeds to tell Tony about a recent incident he’s managed to keep under wraps so far. Long story short, he tried to eat a hot dog while on patrol and got attacked by pigeons. Lots of them.

Of course, just knowing isn’t enough for Tony. No, he pulls up the footage after a short search and proceeds to watch it on loop.

Peter’s embarrassed, sure, but Tony looks like he’s having fun, so he lets it go.

“What else have I been missing by not watching this footage?” Tony asks.

“Uhh… Hey, look! I think we’re near the top!”

They stop once they’ve made it to the peak and take some time to rest and check out the view.

It’s…spectacular. They’re on a rocky cliff-face, high above the trees and with a view of all the other hills and rivers in the area.

“Nice, huh?” Tony says.

Peter nods.

It’s a direct opposite to his view from the buildings in the city.

They sit there for a little while, watching grey clouds float overhead and birds circle in the trees.

Eventually, they decide to start heading back. Tony starts tossing granola bars his way, apparently having hidden some in his pockets before they set off.

They play person, place, or thing—twenty questions—on the way back, Tony picking obscure scientific concepts he seems to hope Peter won’t know while Peter picks whatever foods he’s in the mood for.

Eventually, Peter notices the clouds starting to roll overhead, and a light drizzle starts up, wetting the already muddy ground. They pick up their pace, Tony telling Peter some hilarious stories about how his first Iron Man suits reacted to rain along the way.

Eventually, the drizzle turns to rain turns to a downpour. Thankfully, they aren’t too far off. Peter and Tony laugh as they run to the car, Peter nearly slipping, only saved by Tony’s quick grip on his arm.

They’re still laughing as they hop into their seats, Tony quickly turning on the car to get the heater going.

“Let’s do that again sometime!” Peter says.

“What, hike or run around in the rain?” Tony asks.

Peter tilts his head. “Both!”

Tony breathes a laugh, shaking his head, though the grin on his face tells Peter he agrees.

“Should we wait a little bit for the rain to stop?” Peter asks.

Tony shrugs, cleaning off his glasses on his shirt then slipping them back onto his face. He looks out the windshield for a moment then says, “We could wait a little bit. Hungry?”

“Honestly, yeah,” Peter says, watching Tony lean into the backseat to lift up the reusable bag they got from the market a couple days before. He starts tossing food from it at Peter: apples, a banana, and some Cliff bars. “Thanks.”

Tony turns hooks his phone up to the Bluetooth then starts playing music. To Peter’s surprise, it’s not any of his old rock songs: it’s blackbear, the singer Peter mentioned the other day.

Peter offers Tony a smile that Tony returns.

They eat their snacks while listening to the music.

Once he’s finished his Cliff bar, Tony says, “I can see why you like this. It’s… What do the kids say? Chill.”

Peter laughs but says, “Very chill.”

Tony nods, seemingly having learned something new.

“Your music’s fun, too,” Peter says. “I joke, but it’s catchy.”

“Thanks, kid.”

Even though the rain hasn’t slowed down at all, Tony puts the car in reverse to get out of their spot then starts driving while Peter finishes his snacks and leans his head against the window, watching the scenery around them.

The drive is filled with ups and downs as they drive through the hills. Eventually, the trees thin out, and the downpour of rain isn’t blocked anymore.

While Peter trusts Tony’s driving, he finds himself becoming somewhat anxious with how heavy the rain’s coming down around them.

And when his spider-sense starts to buzz gently against the back of his head, he turns to Tony to say, “Do you think we should stop for a bit? Or find somewhere to stay?”

Tony looks at him seriously and, probably getting that it’s a spider-sense situation, nods once.

“I’ll try to find a place to stop for a bit,” he says.

They pull into the parking lot of a Dollar General not long later. After they’ve parked, Tony turns off the wiper blades but leaves the car running.

They sit for a bit before Tony leans back in his seat, sighing, long and drawn out. Once he’s finished sighing, he turns to Peter and says, “Want to go fuck around in Dollar General?”

Peter pretends to gasp. “But-but-but, Tony,” he says, unable to keep the grin off his face, “what would the public think? _The_ Tony Stark, shopping at the dollar store!”

Tony rolls his eyes. “I mean, if you’d prefer to just sit in here the whole time, that works, too.”

Peter’s already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Nope, sounds good to me!”

They both pause before opening their doors, reluctant to step out into the rain. When they finally do, they run to get inside the store, wiping off their shoes on the strip of carpet just inside the door. Peter does his best to make sure he’s not tracking mud into the store while Tony just starts walking.

“Need any new school supplies?” he asks as they walk down the first aisle they come across, which turns out to be the stationary area, with notebooks and pens and—

“Nope, I’m good,” Peter says, staring at the backpacks.

Tony follows his trail of vision. He steps over and holds a pink, unicorn-themed one on the hook. “Pick one or I’m getting you this.”

Laughing, Peter tries, “Really, I’m good.”

Tony pulls the backpack off the hook and starts humming and hawing as he looks it over. “Lookie,” he says: “it’s got a neat little pocket on the inside for your lip glosses.”

Peter’s still laughing when he picks out a plain red one, saying, “Okay, okay. Thanks, Tony.”

“Get whatever you need. I feel like I missed out on picking out school supplies with you all these years. Here, do you need any folders? High schoolers need a ton of folders, right? Here, take some.”

He shoves some into Peter’s free hand, and Peter struggles to juggle everything, sliding the backpack onto one shoulder to make room.

“Mechanical or wooden pencils?” Tony asks. Before Peter can answer, he says, “Mechanical, of course. No son of mine is using a wooden pencil in the twenty-first century.”

He tosses a package in Peter’s general direction, and Peter has to lean drastically to the side in order to catch it on top of all the other stuff in his hands.

“Okay, that’s good,” Peter insists. “I really don’t need anything else.”

Tony seems to debate it for a few seconds before he shrugs. “Alright. Just tell me if you ever need anything. Or I will force you out shopping with me.”

Peter can’t help his smile, thinking that would be fun.

They walk around the Dollar General for a little bit, Tony pointing out the totally normal things that he finds weird or interesting, like canned pumpkin.

“Have you never baked a pumpkin pie?” Peter asks.

“Does this look like the face of a man who’s baked a pie?” Tony asks, pointing at his face.

“What does that even mean?”

“Not sure.”

Peter laughs. “My Aunt May and I bake a pumpkin pie every year for Thanksgiving. Maybe I could show you how sometime.”

“Why not?” He tosses the can at Peter, and Peter thinks he’s doing it on purpose now.

Peter gets his hand free then manages to catch the can. He laughs as he says, “Stop throwing things at me. Also, we need graham crackers if we’re making a pie.”

“Graham crackers?”

“Yeah, for the crust.”

“That’s not what pie crust is made out of.”

“It can be! Trust.”

Tony holds up a hand. “I trust,” he says faux-seriously.

They gather up the rest of the ingredients that Peter declares they’ll need as well as simple stuff to make a quick dinner that night. Right before they hit the checkout, Tony snags a deck of cards from a rack beside the exit, shrugging at Peter.

Peter shrugs back, nodding along. Yeah, a deck of cards is probably a good idea.

They have the cashier just throw everything in the backpack then head back to the car.

The rain hasn’t slowed down at all in the time since they entered the store; in fact, it seems to have gotten stronger, the whole sky filled with angry, gray clouds. A flash of lightning splits through the sky in the direction they’ve been driving.

“Well,” Tony says after they’ve situated themselves in the car, “I don’t think there’s any waiting out this one. What does your Peter-tingle say about driving for a bit longer?”

Scoffing, Peter says, “It’s called a spider-sense, first of all,” even though he’s told Tony this a thousand times and Tony’s definitely just saying it to annoy him by now. He thinks for a second and says, “I think we’ll be fine. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They set back on the road, and Tony’s driving noticeably slower than usual while the wiper blades work at full power.

They make it through the country to a small town then back out into the country. It’s maybe an hour into driving, an hour filled with crashing thunder so loud Peter jumps every time and piercing lightning that makes him genuinely wonder if Thor is involved, when Peter’s spider-sense starts to hum again, and Peter bites his lip.

“We should probably find somewhere to stop for a bit,” he tells Tony.

“FRI, what do we have in terms of accommodations around here?”

“There is a Red Roof Inn—”

“Pass.”

“—a Route Six—”

“Nope.”

“—and an inn called Diane Inn.”

Peter brightens. “Get it?” he says. “Like ‘dine in!’ Clever.”

“More like ‘Dyin’ inn,’” Tony counters, looking at Peter to see his reaction to the pun. When Peter pouts, he says, “How many stars, FRI?”

“Four-and-a-half.”

“Good enough?” Peter asks.

“We better not get bed bugs because of this. Take us there, girl.”

The inn they’re checking out is in a small town in Northeast New York. Peter watches out the window as they drive by an old-timey looking ice cream shop, a craft store, and a few other shops before they turn onto a street with nice, if somewhat dilapidated, houses.

Tony parks them in front of a larger house with a sing out front reading, “Diane Inn,” and a sign beside them reading, “No parking at any time.”

Peter’s about to bring up the parking notice, but Tony unbuckles his seatbelt, saying, “I’m gonna go figure something out. Be right back.”

Anxious, Peter waits for Tony to return, keeping an eye out for police. He tries to see if he can hear Tony’s conversation with whoever runs the inn—Diane?—but he gives up when the rain continues to pound over it.

After a few minutes, Tony comes back to the car and shoots Peter a thumbs-up. He opens up the trunk so Peter can grab their things and head inside while Tony finds an actual parking spot for the night.

A nice lady points Peter in the right direction, and he heads up the stairs to their room, which has a queen-sized bed in one corner and a bunkbed in the other, as well as a TV, a coffee table, and a small couch. Overall, it’s more like a studio apartment than anything else, fit with an attached bathroom.

Tony enters the room a couple minutes later and whistles. “Well, isn’t this a blast from the past?”

Peter gestures around and says, “What do you mean? It’s got everything.”

“That couch you’re on is older than me.”

“You don’t know that.”

Tony just gives him a look then sets to picking at the peeling wallpaper beside the light switch.

Peter shrugs. “I don’t mind if you don’t. Also, dibs on bottom bunk.”

Tony tosses his phone onto the larger bed. “All yours.” He joins Peter on the couch and says, “Now, where’s that deck of cards?”

Peter picks it up from beside himself, having gotten it out while he waited, and hands it over.

Tony rips open the box and starts shuffling. He even does the ripple thing at the end, it’s very fancy. While he shuffles, he asks, “So, what games do you know?”

“Um, Go Fish? Oh, and War.”

It’s not often, but he and May play card games every now and then.

“May and I are more of board game people,” he explains.

“Want to learn Spades?”

Peter shrugs.

Spades ends up being pretty fun, and they play a few rounds of that before moving on to War, and Peter even convinces Tony to play a round of Go Fish. Tony attempts to teach Peter how to properly shuffle, and Peter actually doesn’t do too bad by the end, even if he can’t seem to figure out the end ripple.

Tony makes them some sandwiches out of the ingredients they got from the store and that’s what they have for dinner while watching the news on the staticky TV.

“So, this is the longest you’ve gone without being Spider-Man in a while, huh?” Tony remarks, laying back on the couch with his feet propped on the coffee table while he watches the news.

Peter nods without looking up from his homework. “Yeah. It’s weird.”

“Kinda nice, though, right?”

Peter shrugs.

Tony sighs. “Yeah, me, too. I keep thinking about my bots back home. Dum-E’s probably burnt the lab down by now.”

“Who would’ve thought relaxing would be so difficult?” Peter agrees. “But, really, this is nice.”

Tony looks at him. “You think so?”

Peter makes eye-contact and smiles. “Yeah.”

“Good. I think so, too.”

“Shit!” Peter sits up with a jolt and bangs his head on the top bunk.

He blinks awake, looking around the dark room to take in his surroundings. He lets out a breath as he remembers where he is, rubbing the bump on his head.

It was just a dream.

He looks over to Tony when he hears him stir.

“Peter?” he asks, voice heavy with sleep.

“I’m good.”

In spite of his insistence, Tony still pushes up so he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, facing Peter. “Bad dream?” he asks.

“It’s no big deal.”

Tony’s quiet for a few seconds, and Peter almost thinks he’s going to let it drop.

“What was it about? If you want to talk about it, that is.”

Peter bites the corner of his lip. Then he shrugs. “Just the Vulture,” he says casually. “No big deal.”

Across the room, Tony is silent. The heavy frown on his face is lit up by the arc reactor. He shifts around, leaning forward with his chin in his hand and elbow against his leg.

“I owe you an apology for that,” he says. “I failed you. Big time.”

Peter shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Tony says. He takes in a breath, looking like he’s about to say something, but lets it out after. He starts again, “I never really figured out what happened that night.”

“He tried to steal your plane. But I stopped it.”

“So, you hung onto the side of a moving plane in just your pajamas.”

Peter starts to argue that they really weren’t pajamas, but Tony interrupts him.

“They were pajamas. I saw that part; the back-up cameras were online. But that’s not all that happened that night. Am I wrong?”

“I don’t blame you.”

“What else happened? You’re not in trouble, kid.”

“It’s no big deal.” Peter sits up, leaning forward towards Tony so his head doesn’t hit the top bunk. He plays with his hands, nervous.

“I took away your protection. It was stupid. Now, tell me—”

“I don’t want to tell you—”

They both go silent as they talk over one another.

Peter starts again, looking at Tony, “I don’t want to tell you because I know you’re just blame yourself. Like you’re doing right now. But it’s not your fault.”

Tony looks away. His eyes track around the room as he thinks. When they finally land back on Peter, he says, “Peter…kiddo… I’m your dad. I’m always going to blame myself when something happens and you get hurt.”

“Well… That sucks.”

Tony laughs, smiling but clearly not happy. “It does suck. It sucks more when you get hurt.”

Peter’s mouth moves to the side. “You shouldn’t worry so much. I heal fast.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tony says, and silence follows for a few moments after.

“I get where you’re coming from,” Peter says eventually, “but I’m not a little kid. I can handle it.”

With a small sigh, Tony says, “I know you can. Sure, of course you can. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Peter’s lips push together at that, at the fact that Tony means that.

Tony continues, “I just… I don’t want you going it alone. And I know you have your little friend, and you have your aunt. But I want it to be me, too. I’m a diva, what can I say?”

The more time Peter spends with him, the more he’s starting to understand Tony. Because that—that was a classic Tony move: he’ll say something vulnerable then immediately try to cover it up with a joke.

Peter can’t help his smile. “Thanks, Tony. I… I hear what you’re saying. I just… Look. You’re not allowed to quote me on this, but…” He looks away. “You’re really cool. Like, holy crap! You’re Iron-Man. And you’re Tony Stark: you’re a genius and you can make all this cool shit. Shoot, stuff, sorry.”

Tony chuckles across the room.

Peter takes a breath and brings himself to look at him again. He continues, “And I’m just some kid from Queens. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy with who I am, and I guess technically I’m not just a random kid anymore—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there. Kid. You know you’re so much more than that, right? And not just because you’re related to me.”

“I know.”

Tony laughs. “Then what the fuck are you saying?”

Peter laughs with him for a second. “I don’t know!” Then, quieter: “I don’t know. You’re just—you—and…I don’t know. I guess I want you to think I’m cool, too.”

“And I won’t think you’re cool because—what?—you have nightmares? Um, hello? You’re looking at the king of nightmares.”

Peter laughs but looks at him questioningly.

Tony must see it because he says, “Yeah, buddy. I get nightmares all the time. I’m still waiting for my crown to come in the mail.”

“You’re probably going to be waiting for a while.”

“Probably.” He shifts, moving so that his arms are behind him, propping him up. “Look… I know we started off rocky, and things can still be kinda rough sometimes.”

Peter thinks they’re both probably thinking about their fight the other week.

“But, even before I let myself start getting to know you, I think a part of me knew you’d be more than just ‘a kid from Queens…’ And, evidently, you’re my kid…from Queens.” He waves a hand. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“I think I get it.”

“Do you?”

Peter makes a face as he processes.

Tony laughs. “Let me try that again. You’re my kid, yadda yadda. But even if you weren’t my kid, you’d still be my kid. Capiche?”

“Uh…”

Tony rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning as he says, “Congrats, patatino: you got a dad who’s garbage with emotional conversations.”

“Keep going! You’re doing great!” Peter whisper-shouts with his hands around his mouth to simulate a crowd.

“Thank you, thank you,” Tony says, playing along. He rubs a hand over his face, sitting up with his ankles crossed and his other arm across his lap. He starts again, “We’re gonna try this one last time. And if it sucks, it sucks, and you’ve gotta deal.”

Peter nods, leaning in further in interest.

“My dad was shit.”

“Boo! We hate him!” Peter gives a thumbs-down.

Tony quirks an amused eyebrow at him.

“I mean… We don’t hate him?” Peter amends.

“No, we hate him.”

“Boo! We hate him!”

Tony shakes his head. “My dad was shit,” pauses and waits to see if Peter will chime in again, and, when he doesn’t, continues, “So—honestly?—I have basically no clue how to do this” He waves a hand. “So, if I’m terrible, blame your grandpa. Just kidding; that’s all on me. But also blame your grandpa.”

“Well…” Peter offers him a smile. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job so far.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Oh, come—is this about the Vulture thing again? Dude.”

“Did you just ‘dude’ me?”

“We’re moving in circles. It’s not your fault.”

“What’s not my fault?”

Peter’s hands move into vague gestures as he says, “Everything that happened.”

“Which was…?”

“If I tell you, you’re gonna be dumb about it. No offense”

“I’m offended. And we both know I’ll be dumb either way.”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t be dumb either way.”

“What?”

“It’s a meme.” Peter waves him off.

Tony puts his thumbs against his chest for a second, gesturing as he says, “Come on. We’re in agreement that I’ll be dumb either way.”

Peter rolls his eyes. He doesn’t know why this conversation is bugging him, but it is. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“I just want to help—”

“Tony.” He realizes suddenly: “You’re pretending this is for me, but it’s about you. I get it: you’re upset about what happened. But that’s not my fault.”

Tony’s quiet.

Peter continues, “And I really think it’s hardly on you, either. Maybe, like, two-percent.”

Tony mumbles something, but Peter ignores him.

“I’m not—ugh. I’ll be honest: that night was really scary. And I… I felt really alone. But I’m not going to—to parade around the scary things that happened to me just so you can feed your—your guilt complex!”

There’s quite between them, only interrupted by the rain falling against the roof.

Tony pulls in a breath, about to say something, but Peter groans, pushing his hands against his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m being mean—”

But Tony says, “No, I… I appreciate you being real with me.”

Peter uncovers his face to see the mall smile Tony’s showing him.

Tony continues, “You’re having nightmares because of what happened, and I’m making it all about me. My dad was never there for me and now I’m your dad, and—I want you to know that I’m here for you. Any time. Always. You can talk to me about anything, and I’ll even try not to be an ass about it—though we know that will be hard.”

Peter snorts a laugh. “Thanks… And you know you can always talk to me, too. That’s how it works. Like a team.”

Tony smiles. “We are a team,” he agrees. “And remember: you will always be my lumacina.”

“What. does. it. mean.”

Grinning, Tony says, “Learn Italian, piccolo.” After a second, he slaps his knees. “Alright, back to bed. You’re a growing boy. You need your sleep.”

“Oh, so now the sixty-year-old is preaching to me about sleep,” Peter says with a shit-eating grin.

Tony’s mouth drops. “You take that back.”

Peter just starts crawling back into bed.

“Mister I will turn this car around.”

“I was kidding, Tony. I now you’re only forty-five.”

“Oh, now you’re just flattering me. Which will work, keep going.”

“And your joints sound so young and healthy,” Peter says when Tony moves and something cracks.

Tony throws a pillow at him, and Peter lets it hit him in the face.

“I’m keeping this,” he says underneath it.

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Sweet dreams.”

“To you as well!”

The teddy bear factory is everything Peter thought it would be and more. Tony called ahead and set them up for a private tour the next day, so, after breakfast prepared by Diane, he and Tony packed up the Jeep and hopped back on the road.

The storm passed overnight. The sky was blue and filled with fluffy white clouds as they drove out of New York and into Vermont.

Peter watches, mesmerized, as a nice older lady uses a machine to punch in the bear’s eyes.

Peter pats Tony’s arm. “Tony, look! He can see now.”

The lady smiles at him.

“A life is born!” Tony says dramatically, one hand on Peter’s back.

Peter imagined this would be, like, a legit factory. But, no, it looks like every bear is made by hand here.

Another lady across the room calls out to him, “I’m about to give this one a sense of smell, if you’d like to watch!”

Peter bounces over, dragging Tony along, saying, “Nose!”

It’s fantastic.

“Are you ever sad to say goodbye to them?” Peter asks as she pushes that bear aside and grabs the next one. “Don’t you form an emotional bond?”

She nods seriously. “Every time.”

Peter nods then is distracted by a man who is sewing his bear’s ears. As he wanders over, he hears the lady say, “Your son seems like fun, Mr. Stark.”

Tony says fondly, “Yeah. He is.”

Their tour guide eventually rounds them back up, and they carry on with their tour, eventually having the chance to “make” (Really just choose and stuff) their own bears. Peter makes one for May while Tony makes Pepper one. Then, Peter convinces Tony to buy himself a bear from the gift shop.

They leave the factory with twin grins on their faces—grins that freeze and fall like flower petals to the ground the moment they get outside.

“Mr. Stark!”

“Tony!”

“Can you tell us who you’re with?”

“What brings you to Vermont?”

“Is it true you’re here with your son?”

Overwhelmed by all the voices speaking at once, Peter blanks until Tony’s sharp grip squeezes his arm, pulling him forward and through the crowd. Tony’s other hand pushes his bear in front of Peter’s face, shielding him from the cameras but blinding him in the process.

Tony says something to the reporters, but it’s drowned out by their continuing questions. He pulls the bear out of Peter’s face once they’ve made it through, and the two rush to the car.

“Well, this is exciting,” Tony remarks as they hop in the car. He doesn’t buckle in, tossing his bears in the backseat, starting up the car, and driving away. “FRIDAY, call Pepper.”

Peter continues shielding his face until they’re out of the parking lot and back on the road. He stares at the small crowd of reporters in the side-mirror, watching them slowly disappear from view. He swallows, pulling in a deep breath and letting it out slowly after. His hands are shaking.

Tony talks with Pepper, and Peter isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to listen in or not. He does anyway, and Pepper promises them she’ll take care of it.

“And Peter,” she says at the end of the conversation, “try not to worry too much, sweetie. We’ll figure this out.”

“Exactly,” Tony says, reaching one hand from the steering wheel to pat Peter’s shoulder. “We’ll go all in on the intern story or something.”

“Something,” Pepper confirms.

“Thanks, guys,” Peter says. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Of course.”

Pepper hangs up the call, and there’s quiet between Peter and Tony for a few moments.

Then, Peter says, “We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

Tony laughs. “What happened to ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine?’”

Peter shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know how any of this works! What if they find out?” His eyes widen. “What if they figure out that I’m Spider-Man?!”

“Woah, calm down. How would that work?”

“I don’t know! Maybe they’ll make the connection between Iron-Man and Spider-Man. Maybe they’ll realize I started my internship around the same time Spider-Man got his sick new suit. Maybe—”

“Peter. Kid. Child. Calm down.”

“I’m calm. I’m, like, so calm right now.”

“Are you?”

“No!”

Tony laughs, a quick burst of sound. “Take a deep breath.”

Peter exaggerates one in an attempt to be funny, but he realizes halfway through that he actually probably needs it. The next one is genuine.

“Good,” Tony says. “Listen: I get that this isn’t ideal, but I really think it’ll be okay. You should have seen some of the PR nightmares Pepper got me out of back in the day. The woman’s a miracle worker.”

 _And is that what this is?_ Peter wants to ask. _Another PR nightmare?_

“I’m sorry,” Peter says instead.

“Not your fault. Vultures, all of them.”

Peter nods silently, looking down at his hands.

“Really, this isn’t that big of a deal,” Tony says. “Let me tell you something that surprisingly was a big deal.”

Tony proceeds to tell Peter about a somewhat cringey but mostly funny story of one of the more unprofessional moments he had a few years back. Something about a public statement against FritoLays and how the companies actually had a brief stand-off because of it.

“And that’s why I’m not allowed to freestyle most of my speeches anymore. Though—and don’t tell Pepper this—I do still add my own…let’s call it flair…to them.”

Peter laughs at the end of the story, though his heart admittedly isn’t in it.

The two fade into silence, only broken by Tony turning on the radio. They listen to Christian rock until Tony speaks up maybe a half hour later, saying, “I don’t know why we’re listening to this, but here we are.”

“Is this going to look really bad for you?” Peter asks. He knows he’s kind of throwing it out of nowhere, but he knows Tony will get what he’s talking about.

When Tony doesn’t respond, he continues, “I mean, the press just caught you hanging out with some random kid. What are they going to say about it?”

“Nothing, if Pepper has any say in it.” Tony sighs. “I’m hoping we can keep any pictures of you out since you’re still a minor, but something might slip through before we can stop it. They’re going to speculate.”

Peter groans. “They’re totally going to figure it out.”

Tony offers him a half-smile. “Maybe. Probably. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll know who you are or find out any information on you.”

“I hope not.”

“For the record, I am sorry about this, kiddo. I should have been more careful.”

“Not your fault,” Peter says. “I guess it was probably stupid of me to think we wouldn’t ever be found out.”

“Not stupid,” Tony says. “I probably should have warned you better, though.”

Peter shrugs. He really doesn’t blame Tony for any of this. Mostly, he’s just upset with himself for being so naïve.

After a few seconds of silence, Tony says, “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if they found out.”

Peter looks at him.

Continuing to look forward out the windshield, Tony says, “I mean—nevermind.” He runs a hand through his hair then returns it to the steering wheel.

Peter blinks. “But… I mean, wouldn’t it kind of…hurt your reputation or whatever?”

Now, Tony looks at him. “Huh?”

Gesturing vaguely, Peter says, “You know.”

“No,” Tony says slowly, “I really don’t.”

Peter groans. “I mean that I was a donor kid and not, like, your own,” he says simply. “Obviously, I don’t have a problem with it, but don’t you think the paparazzi or whatever is going to use it against you?”

“Kid. When have I ever given even a single shit about what the paparazzi has to say about anything?”

Peter shrugs.

“To make it clear,” Tony says: “I don’t care. What I do care about? Your right to privacy. Your right to live a life doing—whatever the hell you want. You deserve that.”

Peter looks at him. “You really don’t care?” he asks.

Tony makes eye-contact with him for a moment. “I really, really don’t.”

“Huh.”

Well, that eliminates that side of things. Now Peter realizes that he has…a choice?

Oh, jeez. Peter has a choice.

“Do… Do you want them to find out? About us?” he asks.

Tony sighs, though it’s not a heavy sound. “I want you to do whatever’s best for you. Do I want to show off my kid? Of course. I’m proud of you. But… Kid, you’re more important than all of that.”

For a moment, Peter imagines the dream of it: being publicly known as Tony’s son. Peter Parker-Stark. It’s dazzling. It’s…

It’s complicated.

“What do you want?” Tony asks.

“I… I don’t know.”

Nodding, Tony says, “And that’s okay. Pepper’s going to figure out something to tell the press to keep the wolves at bay. I’ll wear my sunglasses. And you… You just enjoy vacation.”

Peter nods.

“And get your homework done, little lobster.”

They both freeze.

Peter bursts out a laugh. “What?” he asks, baffled. Then his mouth drops. “That’s what you’ve been calling me this whole time?!”

“It’s an actual phrase in Italian,” Tony says, straight-faced.

“Is it?”

Tony’s mouth twitches. “Nope.”

“Tony!”

They can’t help it: they laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

Peter relaxes against his seat and closes his eyes, taking some time to just breathe. He doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t know what to do about—about any of this, really.

But he has a feeling it’s going to be okay.

For now… He’s just going to enjoy vacation with Tony.


End file.
